


in softest air, a stutter

by shepherd



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blind Character, Blind Ignis Scientia, Established Relationship, Hugs, Ignis Scientia Needs a Hug, Injury, M/M, Post-Altissia (Final Fantasy XV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:35:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22991086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shepherd/pseuds/shepherd
Summary: The painkillers they had given him – extra strength, Gladio had informed him with that sullen tone, pressing them into his palm – had worn off slowly. Ignis carried too much battered pride to ask for more.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 4
Kudos: 65





	in softest air, a stutter

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by spoofen_art on twitter's lovely gladnis pic which can be found here https://twitter.com/spoofen_art/status/1214316639375822849
> 
> I literally stared at this for days. I love the expressions, I love how big Gladio is against Ignis, I love Gladio's hair and how soft it looks. I really got a sense of being held tight and feeling very warm so I wanted to get that across.
> 
> I hope you like it.

More than anything Ignis ached.

There was salt upon his cracked lips and a harsh breeze on his oily skin. Even that pressure threatened to be too much, his tall frame close to teetering. It was even harder to breathe facing the coastline, the wind a battering ram that chilled him, left his skin clammy. Ignis was bruised and battered all the way down to his overworked lungs.

All the while he steadied himself. A cool metal rail was slick with sea water and he grasped it tightly. Ignis listened to the relentless crash of waves and the anxious uneven tap of Prompto’s boots. In his mouth his tongue was thick, fuzzy. It tasted dull and a foul film covered his tongue. The painkillers they had given him – extra strength, Gladio had informed him with that sullen tone, pressing them into his palm – had worn off slowly. Ignis carried too much battered pride to ask for more.

They left nothing but a shell, anyway.

In his skull Ignis’ brain seemed to swell unforgivingly. It throbbed and Ignis sighed, fingers gracing his pounding temple. He steadied the fine frame of his glasses. They had offered him shades, clunky old things with thicker frames than he was used to and shadowed lenses. Ignis had accepted them with sour gratitude, still grateful for the opportunity to protect his eyes and his dignity most of all, but the darkness of the lenses had blocked what little light he could make out. He could still see it dance, see it glare. It seared his eyelids, thin like paper. Ignis didn’t mind. He liked the way the light scalded.

He stood with Prompto and yet utterly alone. His companion was silent for once. In the morning he had filled Ignis’ borrowed quarters with jokes, well meaning but falling limp and lifeless. Ignis had smiled simply to be polite, grasping for the clothes that Prompto had picked and laid out for him. He said little in response and fumbled with his zipper while Prompto averted his eyes, wondering how many bruises stained the skin beneath. Pressing his fingers against his ribs made his body alight with pain. Prompto had fallen quiet not long after, taking the cue to work in misery’s company and a chasm yawned between them.

The dock had few voices. Precious few trusted the waters. Recovery efforts were taking place in the inner centre of the city, not that Ignis had been involved. He hadn’t been _permitted_ to step out of his bed. According to the First Secretary they still combed the waters for any sign of Lady Lunafreya but her first focus had been her citizens. _It would have been the Oracle’s wish_ , she had said in a tone that permitted no argument, and Ignis didn’t need his sight to recognise her pinched brow.

Accordo’s fittest and finest were hard at work. But they were still in desperate need and any willing hands for the cause were worked to the bone. It had been days of strain and Ignis had heard the shouting and the drone of machinery from his ajar window, propped open for the fresh sea air. And the people thought little of them now, a mouse like foreign prince and his band of strangers. They thankfully remained undisturbed upon the docks and Ignis stood, trembling through with the terrible cold as if half drowned on the Altar once more.

He could not see where his prince and lover had gone. They had mumbled as if in another world – _passage, supplies, Weskham_ – and their boots had trundled away, splashing in deep puddles. Ignis had no voice to call after them, no footing to pursue them as much as he longed to be of use. Gulls screeched overhead and worsened his headache. That pulled at Ignis the hardest – claws of doubt dug firmly within his waxen skin, cloying discomfort spilling from deep within. Ignis had suffered ample time to think, trapped abed the past week and unable to sleep from the pain, the fear, the shame. All he could do was lay immobilized by thoughts of the cold, a heavy boot pressing upon his back and a muzzle at his temple. A man sprawled, utterly useless in the knowledge that he would never be able to serve his friend again, never follow in his noble footsteps without stumbling.

His sight would not return. Ignis knew this. It was a child’s fancy to claim otherwise, try as Ignis might to pretend for the sake of those who loved him. The shadows had enveloped his heart. The darkness had touched too deeply.

At his side Prompto’s soles shuffled. Then those frenetic footsteps ceased and Ignis glanced aside. His glasses slipped down his nose. “Hey,” he called with forced lightness. “Igs – the guys are back.”

True enough a pair of footsteps slowly returned. One set heavy and thoughtless outside of battle, Gladio’s thick leather boots. They were accompanied by scuffing carelessness, a man who often forgot to pick up his feet, so eager to reach a destination. They were slow and walked alone, accompanied by no jokes, no rough housing. Nothing.

Ignis exhaled harshly. Grasping the adorned head of his new cane he wobbled forward, intending to greet them as faithfully as ever, come what may. The metal tip cracked against the stone and struck sooner than Ignis anticipated. It was all too easy to misjudge his place in the world.

An anxious and hot hand abruptly grabbed his forearm. The sudden and silent action caught him off guard and he recoiled. It was almost enough to send his cane flying, to send him sprawling and hot shame scalded his insides. It spread to burn upon his face. “Wait,” Prompto fussed, looping his arm roughly through Ignis’ and taking his hand. Overkill, and Prompto trembled far more than Ignis did. Those famously skittish feet tapped once more. “Let me,” he said, and Ignis grit his jaw to keep from snapping.

There was no shaking him off. He had been Ignis’ long shadow day and night. Prompto had done it all – fetched his medicine, filled his water, spoke and smiled for him. All the things that Ignis could do perfectly well, he insisted, even as he misjudged and spilt his water across his lap. Prompto pretended he hadn’t seen and taken his glass, quietly refilling it, speaking of sunshine and soft cushions, and Ignis had hated.

Outside for the first time in days Prompto forgot himself. He tugged and moulded Ignis without thought. Love and great care somehow became a mess of worry and urgency and he moved too fast, pulling Ignis along too hard, and leading to Ignis’ sharp stumble. The darkness of his world spun and Ignis made to fall, barely able to right himself in time.

Prompto inhaled sharply, the very first grey cloud before a storm of apologies. Amongst them was a clap of thunder – “Iggy,” Gladio said suddenly, closer than Ignis thought, and a warm hand caught his wrists. “Prompto, be careful!”

“I’m sorry,” Prompto said, and the mourning was as desperate as Ignis’ racing heart. “I’m sorry-”

“I’m fine,” Ignis insisted, entirely on autopilot. Such words were cheap to his own ears. He settled his own feet, straightening his posture, and _I’m fine_ was all he had seemed to say since. Prompto’s hand squeezed his, delightfully bare skin against Ignis’ own, gloves left soaked and abandoned amongst the canal.

It was hard to swallow. Those hands remained and soon Ignis knew they would be too much. “I’m fine,” he said again and louder, firmer. He brushed away the thoughts of _useless,_ yet another mere victim of the crushing cold. Another lost to the madness. “Merely surprise. That’s all.”

Ignis had once prided himself on being able to pick out every part of an intricate expression. The most subtle tension of a brow, the hard line of a mouth unwilling to give up its secrets. Ignis could see all and pry it free and now he spiralled, set adrift from rocky shores. Not even could he see the warmth of Prompto’s smile nor cherish the beauty of his homeland. Never again could he serve as the wise eyes of his king, fulfil his duty and willing pleasure as another’s of Gladio’s capable hands. Even his heart was exhausted. His skin was raw and body pummelled. The Ring had sapped his strength and even, Ignis suspected, his heart. Little remained of his passion. What remained lay half dead, inspired only by the touch of hands, lips – and Gladio had scarcely embraced him in days.

He shook such notions free. There would be time for grief and desire and Ignis refused to wear his agonised heart upon his sleeve. “Do we have passage?”

A beat. Ignis could feel Prompto’s soft hand just barely slacken before it slipped away, though his arm remained looped with Ignis’. There was a stretch of continued silence and dread before Gladio sighed heavily, as if he alone carried the weight of the world upon his shoulders, taking on Ignis’ share of the burden and suffering beneath the strain. Ignis bit back all that longed to burst free. “Yeah. Weskham’s arranged a boat and we can pick up a train not too far from the docks. But we need to go now.”

Ignis nodded. It would be a long, hard walk. Ignis knew the unpredictable road ahead would remain fraught but there would be no easy path even with Ignis’ sight intact. It would not do to be shepherded, to have his hand held constantly. Ignis would need to walk tall. _Walk tall,_ he urged himself, and licked his dry lips.

Noctis’ silence amongst them all spoke volumes.

“Let us be off, then,” Ignis spoke with as little weariness as he could muster and took a single step before a thick arm stopped him.

A grunt broke free of his tight chest. Prompto protested loudly, deeply unhappy to Ignis’ overworked ears. Ignis could scarcely imagine it in his minds eye, unable to conjure one of Prompto’s rare frowns. And he could not place Gladio’s fierce heart – his lover hid his grief from each of them as his lord father had carefully taught him too, Gladio’s tears so rare Ignis had only seen them since they had left Insomnia. It was far harder for Gladio to hide his frustration and frowns came easy to him. Ignis had seen his furrowed brow and crossed arms with ease.

But Ignis could not stomach the thought of Gladio’s rage directed towards him. There was only so much a man could take. _Please,_ he thought, _please,_ and had no idea for what he was asking.

Ignis averted his useless eyes, ashamed of the mess of his face and the weakness of his human frame. If only the Ring were within his grasp again. If only he could taste such power one last time and fix their mess once and for all. He swallowed, and it stung like salt in a wound. The pain of a mortal man’s failure was his burden to bear until the end of days. “The quicker we reach the dock, the greater our chance of arriving unnoticed. Let us hurry, Gladio.”

There came no response. A gull screamed louder than ever, circling high and lazy above. Only Gladio’s arms spoke for him, a hand still at Ignis’ waist and another upon his forearm. Though he made no noise Ignis simply knew that Prompto was fidgeting, frightened of what was to come. Confrontation perhaps, harsh words that could never be taken back. His arm drew Ignis tighter at first but then something – Gladio’s expression, Ignis wondered, perhaps Noctis’ own arms seeking comfort – made him slip away, sand through an hourglass. It was the absence of his warmth that struck Ignis hardest, the inherent pain of being left behind and Ignis’ heart sank like a stone. But as soon as Prompto was gone Gladio was there, broad and tall and his heat drove away the chill like a flame to darkness.

For the very first time Gladio’s touches were laughably soft. Plenty of times before he had been gentle with Ignis’ vulnerability. Others he had been uncertain, afraid that he wasn’t wanted, or he was doing something wrong. But now Gladio touched Ignis like he was afraid of leaving permanent marks. Ignis could have scoffed at the thought. There wasn’t much left that hadn’t been beaten black and blue or scarred beyond measure. Nothing remained that Gladio hadn’t gotten a full gory glimpse of over in the process of nursing his lover, making sure he was fed and safe in the shower.Burns covered one of Ignis’ arms entirely and across his shoulder, his throat. It blazed all the way to his eye. It was nothing Ignis could shy away from past wearing those awful shades and he wondered how Gladio looked at him. He could only pray it wasn’t with pity.

In the sparse evenings he had alone Ignis painstakingly peeled the gloves from his hands, casting them aside and tracing the ragged lines of his face. All the while his hands trembled with the agony, the dread. Against his fingertips the scarring seemed to spread unendingly. It was hypersensitive flesh and raw beyond Ignis’ limits. He had cried often in the night-time and still found himself surprised he could.

Ignis avoided looking up. “Gladiolus,” he murmured with dread but not a moment of regret, not for saving the lives of those who cherished, and in response those arms wrapped firm and determined around him.

One great paw braced between Ignis’ shoulder blades. Another rest at his elbow and it was nothing like the cold touch of the water. The embrace of the Ring and the home of the Lucian kings were wastelands, nothingness that stretched on unendingly. Gladio’s touch was pure sunshine against Ignis’ skin. Ignis had missed it sorely, missed being embraced and enjoyed, their warmth shared against the bitter winds. His scent filled Ignis’ nose – only sweat and cheap detergent, anything that could be spared gratefully accepted. The touch of familiar Lucian leather was a home away from home. Ignis inhaled it as eagerly as his last breath.

Still Gladio said nothing. It had been so long since Ignis had enjoyed the sound of his booming laughter. But his arms were a comfort that soothed Ignis’ pains if not his torment. He couldn’t help but lean into that barrel chest, the soft muscle he knew intimately. Wrapping his own arms around Gladio’s wide back he clumsily held on. It was all he could do but cling, hooking his chin over Gladio’s shoulder. Swallowing hard he caught the faintest scent of Gladio’s favourite hair oil, ruined by the persistent sea breeze.

Ignis’ shirt was thin. Through it Gladio’s body was bare and blazing. It was all Ignis could do but feel, all damp leather that stuck to him and firm flesh, holding back his hot tears. With his face against the muscle of Gladio’s shoulder Ignis’ glasses had become askew. Ignis resisted the impulse to correct them – they meant nothing now, and Ignis was truly exhausted, boneless in Gladio’s hold. Every part of him was sore. It would be easy to give in, to falter at the first hurdle. A turbulent journey was unthinkable with such unsteady feet. But Ignis had to – he had to stand the pain, had to follow his friends into each layer of hell and back – had to –

“Love you,” Gladio rumbled and Ignis could feel it through every inch of his body. It rattled his teeth. In his shoes Ignis’ toes curled tight. He willed himself not to weep but when he blinked his tears began to flow, staining his pink cheeks. Ignis gasped, an awful sound to his own ears and Gladio leant into him, rubbing Ignis’ back to comfort him. And lost in a dozen sensations, rising and falling with each of Gladio’s deep breaths, he never wanted to let go.

This way the future wasn’t painfully uncertain. This way it hurt less. In Gladio’s arms everything was going to be alright, even if just for a sweet handful of moments. Hope was something that had been lost to him entirely. Gladio’s heart promised a way to bring Ignis back into the beauty of the warmth.

“I love you too,” he said, throat and heart weak enough to give only a whisper. He rubbed his hand against Gladio’s back and prayed that things could be different – perhaps, if they stood here forever, there would be no more loss. No more ceaseless death. “I love you.”

Those arms squeezed tighter. It stole Ignis’ breath and strained his wounded shoulders and Ignis dare not complain. Ignis swore he could feel a tremor within the tense lines of his lover, unsteady breaths and tears dripping against his own shoulder – but it must have been Ignis’ imagination. It was the sea breeze, Ignis’ own tremors. The moment passed and Ignis was at his core a weak, wanting man. He could no longer trust his own senses, overwhelmed by the comfort he clung to.

A world beyond them span on. Still the city bore the pounding of the waves and their companions stood silent, nursing their own wounds and grief. But for a while they lived in a world that was theirs alone – darker and crueller by far. But Gladio stood firm while Ignis trembled, bleeding and raw – and the waves crashed, ceaseless and cold, fighting to tear away the foundations piece by piece and yet to touch Gladio’s trusting heart.


End file.
